If such a thing as a racing certainty still exists in these turbulent times for rock and pop, then Michael Kiwanuka's debut album may well be it. It's always unwise to make predictions about these things, but there's no getting around the fact that the 24-year-old's music ticks a lot of boxes on the list headed Things People Seem to Like These Days. Kiwanuka has links to the west London folk scene that spawned Laura Marling and Mumford and Sons: he is signed to Communion, the record label owned by the latter's bassist, Ben Lovett. He is a confessional singer-songwriter in an age dominated by Adele: in the absence of a collapsed relationship to feel anguished about, Kiwanuka's songs concern themselves with matters spiritual – of which more later – and, on the mournful Always Waiting, the apparently insufferable torment of his pre-fame job. "My load a burden that I carry … my time is coming … pray for me," he sings, perhaps making more of a song and dance about the awfulness of being a session guitarist for Chipmunk than is strictly necessary. Even at his least interesting, as on the title track, what Kiwanuka sounds like isn't one of the hallowed 60s and 70s names trotted out in every feature about him – Bill Withers or Terry Callier – but the laid-back, rounded-edge acoustic rock of Jack Johnson. Given that that sound inexplicably seems to have become a chart-pop touchstone thanks to the success of Bruno Mars, the bean-counters at his record label presumably think that's no bad thing.

Most obviously, Kiwanuka's music fits the post-Amy Winehouse vogue for faux-vintage soul. It signposts its retro intentions from its opening seconds – the first thing you hear is a jazzy flute in a style not dissimilar to that of Rahsaan Roland Kirk. In fact, there's jazz flute all over the shop, along with saxophones blowing free solos and string and brass arrangements that so obviously recall the early 70s – not just Bill Withers or Terry Callier, but Van Morrison's Moondance and Nick Drake's Bryter Layter – you listen in fear that the whole thing might suddenly grind to a halt because the miners are out and the power stations have shut down.

Home Again's strength lies in the fact that it manages to tick a lot of boxes without sounding like it set out to tick a lot of boxes. It seems a faintly ridiculous thing to say about an album that's so clearly busting a gut to sound 40 years older than it actually is, but it feels natural rather than forced or calculating. That's partly down to Paul Butler's production. It's perhaps a bit much to coat Kiwanuka's vocals in a thin layer of distortion – a kind of sonic equivalent of distressing furniture with sandpaper – with the implicit accompanying suggestion this music has recently been unearthed in the vaults of Blue Thumb or Cadet Records rather than recorded on the Isle of Wight last year with the bloke out of the Bees, but there's something beguiling about its warm, live sound. Mostly, though, it's down to Kiwanuka's voice and songs. The former is rich and fluid, the latter balance a sure grasp of an immediate melody against chord sequences that shift in ways you don't quite anticipate. Listening to Tell Me a Tale or I Won't Lie, you're struck by the way they manage to sound both comfortingly familiar and slightly unexpected, an impressive trick to pull off.

Those old enough to remember an era when British rock music, like the Blair administration, didn't really do God might raise an eyebrow at how much of Home Again seems to deal with Christianity. Kiwanuka addresses The Lord with such frequency that you picture Him hiding behind the sofa and pretending to be out. At first, it just sounds like a lyrical tic, but by the time you reach I'm Getting Ready – "to believe" – it's pretty clear that it runs substantially deeper than that.

There was a time when an album so explicitly God-bothering might have risked turning mainstream UK buyers off, although Kiwanuka might reasonably point out that most of the music that inspired him was exactly the same. Perhaps more pertinently, you could add that Mumford and Sons' links to evangelical Christianity and "awake my soul, you were made to meet your maker" lyrics have done nothing to harm their popularity in the UK and may well have contributed to it in the US: there are certainly a lot of American bloggers excited by the band's ability to provide "moments of worship" in their music. Back home, top of the list of Things People Seem to Like These Days is a certain earnestness and sincerity in their music: Home Again ticks that box as well.

Hearing Jimi Hendrix convinced singer-songwriter Michael Kiwanuka that it was cool for a black kid to play guitar. Now the young Londoner with the mature voice has been picked for the BBC's 'Sound of 2012' award, writes Tom Lamont